Heels of Steel
by Twilight Fang
Summary: (Slash Steve/Tony) Steve is distracted and ignoring Tony, which leads to a twisted sort of revenge.


**Author's note: I wrote this back in 2010 but just realized that I never posted it here.**

* * *

Steve was in the kitchen, munching and crunching away on a big, red juicy apple, leaning forward with his elbows on the granite countertop. He looked up at the newly installed digital TV that Tony had set up on a bracket attached to the far wall. There was a soccer game playing at the moment, not that soccer had been on the scheduling for today. No, Peter had just illegally downloaded the game, copied it onto a USB drive, and stuck it into the TV. Steve didn't mind. He had no opinion on the Internet or downloading in general.

So into the game was he that Steve hardly paid any attention to Jan wandering past him to fry up some pancakes for her breakfast. In response to her "Good morning," greeting, Steve just shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible before scratching absently at his backside through the torn sweatpants that he'd slept in.

"Eww, gross." Jan voiced her disapproval before taking her morning cheer – and her pancakes – and vanishing from the kitchen.

Peter got up from where he sat, properly at the kitchen table like a good little spider tends to do, and discarded his used dishes in the sink. And left them there. Without washing them.

Okay, not such a good little spidey after all.

"You gonna watch that all day? I usually just fast-forward to the action scenes," Peter complained.

"Shhh!" Steve shhh-ed Peter and bit down on his apple again, chewing on a piece of the core for a moment before realizing what it was and spitting it out in the sink.

"I second Jan's reaction. Gross." Peter left the kitchen – and Steve – to find something new to amuse himself with on a boring Sunday morning.

Nearly a half hour after Peter had disappeared, Tony entered looking sleepy and thoroughly relaxed. He was wearing an expensive looking pair of green silk pajama pants and a white vest, fashionable leather slippers on his feet. Padding up to Steve, Tony brushed up against his lover like an affectionate cat craving some attention. "You didn't wake me up," Tony murmured, looking up at Steve through his thick, dark eyelashes.

Steve grinned, hooked a muscular arm around Tony,'s waist, and drew him close. "Yeah… good morning."

Tony frowned, watching Steve pop the remaining half of the apple core into his mouth, make a face, and then spit it into the sink. They'd been together for several months now, long enough that nothing really offended Tony anymore. Hell, he thought the ass scratching was kind of cute. And the old boogie woogie blues music that Steve listened to served as a comforting lullaby, putting Tony to sleep within seconds. Nothing better than a non-prescription treatment for insomnia! He even put up with Steve's obsessive treatment of that shield that he treated like a pet rock.

But, when it came to the obsessive, dreamlike state that Steve entered while watching soccer, Tony drew the line.

"You promised to take me out today," Tony whined, pinching the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

"Uh huh…" As the ball sailed across the TV screen, Steve's eyes followed it… away from Tony's face.

"It's our anniversary!"

"Yeah… I know." But it was disturbingly obvious that Steve was not listening to a word that Tony was saying.

"Bastard!"

"In a minute…"

"I'm going down to the training room to drop my pants for Logan."

"Sure… have fun."

Tony glared up at Steve, hating that absorbed, ecstatic expression that he'd thought was reserved for only him. It was about high time that somebody taught Steve to mind his manners and Tony was just the pissed off boyfriend for the job.

Shrugging away from Steve's mock embrace, Tony stalked out of the kitchen, calling out, "Screw you later!" over his shoulder.

"Will do…"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Tony returned to the kitchen, breezed past Steve, and strolled over to the fridge.

Steve's eyes flickered in confusion, once, twice, and then returned their attention to the big screen. He'd seen something strange but just couldn't drag himself away from the game in order to check out what that something had been.

 _Click! Clack!_

 _Click! Click!_

 _Clack!_

Tony walked across the kitchen tiles in a slutty strut, dropping off a carton of milk, an empty bowl, and a spoon on the countertop beside Steve. And then, off he went to the cupboards in search of his favorite cereal.

 _Click! Clack!_

 _Click!_

"Um… Tony…?" Steve's eyes wavered from the TV to inspect Tony in his peripheral vision. Was it his imagination or had Tony grown a few inches taller in the last ten minutes?

"Yeah?" Tony bent down to retrieve the Adventure Mix cereal from the bottom shelf, flashing skin on his way down. When he straightened up again, moving back to his place at the counter, the _Click! Clack!_ wasn't far behind.

Finally – slowly – painfully, Steve tore his gaze away from the TV set to give his lover an annoyed glance… which turned into a double take. And then, Steve's jaw dropped open as he got a real eyeful of what Tony was wearing to eat breakfast.

Tony had somehow managed to get into a short sleeved, black and neon orange racing shirt that clung to ever lean muscle in his upper body, leaving very little to the imagination. It was as if someone had spray-painted the fabric on him because it moved and rippled whenever he so much as breathed. And then there were the matching biker shorts that…

Steve instinctively grabbed Tony by his nicely toned ass, marveling at how sleek and smooth the fabric felt against his palms. But, he'd only meant to conceal his lover's assets while in the communal kitchen, not cop a feel in the middle of the morning when anyone could just stroll on in and catch him red-handed.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just go back to watching your game," Tony muttered, feigning a moody indifference. However, as Tony took a step back from Steve, off went the _Click!_ And then the _Clack!_

Knowing that he probably shouldn't, Steve looked down… and saw what Tony was wearing on his feet. From his knees down, Tony had encased his long, well sculpted legs in hotrod red metallic boots. Similar to the stylized material that made up the Iron Man boots, but much more slender and form fitting. They molded to Tony's calves, emphasizing the fact that he had very nicely shaped legs, especially for a man. What further accentuated his already long legs was the fact that the bottoms of those boots were filled out with very thick and curvy high heels. High enough to remove the difference in height between Steve and Tony so that they were nearly at an identical eye level.

"You're drooling on the remote control," Tony snickered.

"What…? When…? Why…?"

"Prototype boots. They help my leg muscles adapt to the thrusters in the Iron Man boots. When – made them last night. Why – because your soccer games piss me off."

"Uh… huh…" Steve pushed away from the counter, got his arms full of the scantily clad industrialist and began to guide him suggestively out of the kitchen. "Well, we'll just have to make you feel better. All that spandex must be cutting off your circulation."

"Synthetic leather-spandex-lycra mix," Tony corrected, rubbing up against Steve teasingly. "You want it off? Better bring scissors."

"We're not going out today until I get it off," Steve promised, chasing Tony's shiny ass up the stairs. Past a gawking Jan, in the opposite direction of Peter who had spontaneously decided to have a nosebleed, and into the bedroom that they shared where he locked and bolted the door.

They didn't come out for the better part of the day.


End file.
